


Respite

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: Foyle's War
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-23
Updated: 2012-02-23
Packaged: 2017-10-31 15:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Foyle's son Andrew turns up in a state of exhaustion, Milner takes it upon himself to look after him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Respite

It was a grey winter afternoon, fast sliding into darkness. Milner glanced up at the window, where streaks of rain were just starting to mark the pane and pushed the sheaf of reports away from him wearily. He was getting nowhere fast on this case, and wondered if Foyle and Sam were having any more luck – wherever they'd got to. 

Milner rubbed his eyes and wondered if a cup of tea would do anything for his inspiration levels. Pulled his chair back with a protesting squeak on the lino and made his way out to reception. Having paused for a word with the desk sergeant, they both looked up with a start as the front door banged open and a bedraggled figure was seemingly blown inside by the worsening weather.

The man came to a halt before the desk and took off his uniform cap. With a shock of delayed recognition, Milner realised he knew him. 

"Sergeant Milner."

"Flight Lieutenant Foyle." Milner nodded a polite greeting, hoping his face hadn't betrayed his shock. The first time they had met, Foyle had only recently received his wings, and the young man had been eager, enthusiastic, lively. The man who stood before him now was almost unrecognisable, with deep shadows under his eyes, a day's growth of beard on his jaw and an almost tangibly exhausted demeanour.

Milner thought back. After a somewhat eventful start to his flying career as a test pilot, Andrew Foyle had eventually been posted to an active squadron and what Milner knew of his progress thereafter had been passed on in snippets by his father. Milner knew Foyle worried about his son, and news was sporadic at best, but had always appeared to indicate he was having a successful time. Having been struck by the man's pluck and spirit, Milner had always listened attentively to these updates, while never liking to press for more than Foyle was inclined to pass on.

Now, he wondered if even Foyle had an inkling of his son's current state of mind or situation, and had rounded the desk before he fully realised what he was doing. Regaining a belated sense of propriety he just stopped himself reaching out to Andrew in blind concern.

For his part, Andrew seemed a little dazed. 

"I'm sorry to trouble you. Is my father here?"

Milner shook his head. "No, I'm sorry, he's out on a case. Not due back for a while I shouldn’t think." He hesitated. "You're welcome to come in and wait? I'm sorry," he added, feeling his way carefully, "he – didn’t say he was expecting you?"

It was Andrew's turn to shake his head. "He isn’t. I've been given some – unexpected leave." He sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face. "Ordered to take it, if I'm honest. And I got back to Hastings to find I haven't brought my stupid house keys with me."

"Is – everything alright?" Milner asked, embarrassed almost before he'd finished asking the question. "I'm sorry, that's none of my business, please, forgive me."

Andrew waved away the apology carelessly. "It's – fine. I don’t especially want to talk about it though. Is there somewhere I could get a drink? I've rather lost touch with where's still open. And no offence, but hanging around a mouldy old police station while father chases criminals all over the countryside isn’t the best end to a trying day." He smiled, to try and convey that he wasn't intentionally maligning Milner's place of work, and the effect was to lift years from his face.

"There's the Red Lion at the bottom of the hill?" Milner suggested, and Andrew nodded.

"Join me?" he offered impulsively, and Milner hesitated There was a desk covered in reports and a black marketeer to be tracked down but then, Andrew looked like he could use some company and Foyle could hardly object to him looking out for his son…

"Alright. Thank you." Milner nodded acceptance, making up his mind, and Andrew's smile widened. 

"Super. First round's on you then." 

Milner laughed, caught by surprise, and went to fetch his coat.

\--

The short walk down the hill was nonetheless plenty far enough to soak them in the squall that had blown in, and they settled in front of the pub fire, drying out gratefully before the crackling logs.

Andrew had lapsed into a preoccupied silence, staring moodily into his drink, and Milner felt he should try and coax him out of the rather troubled looking reverie.

"So are you staying in town long, Flight Lieutenant?"

Andrew looked up half startled, and then smiled. 

"That's jolly formal isn’t it? How about you call me Andrew?" 

Milner smiled back. "Aright." He was already Andrew in his head anyway, as that was how Foyle always spoke of him. But he hadn’t wanted to presume. "So are you staying long – Andrew?"

His companion's expression darkened again, and Milner was almost sorry he'd spoken, but then Andrew shook himself and gave a slight sigh.

"They've given me compulsory leave. A week. Medical grounds." Milner looked understandably alarmed, and Andrew flushed, disgusted with himself. "Fatigue, they're calling it," he muttered, looking away into the fire. "I'm fine," he protested hotly, even though Milner hadn't spoken. "But they won't see it that way."

"You – do look rather wiped out," Milner ventured. "If you don’t mind me saying so."

"I've spent most of today on a train," Andrew groaned, stretching. He winced. "Do I really look shocking?"

"Rather," Milner admitted, sympathetically.

Andrew opened his mouth as if to say something, then clearly thought better of it and drained his glass instead.

"What is it?" Milner prompted, quietly.

Andrew hesitated, then made up his mind. "I don’t suppose you could lend me a razor and somewhere to wash up before I see my father could you? I don’t want to unduly alarm the old boy any more than necessary. He's going to be worried enough, what with me turning up like this anyway."

"Of course." Miler finished his own drink, and set the glass carefully on the table. "My house isn’t far. Would you like another drink, or - ?"

"Better clean up I think," decided Andrew, throwing a regretful look at the bar. "Haven't eaten since breakfast, might not be the best plan to carry on drinking." 

Milner followed him out into the dark street, experiencing a growing worry. He didn’t know Andrew all that well, but had formed an instinctive liking for the young man that seemed to be developing into an oddly protective concern.

A second soaking was suffered before they stumbled together into the welcome shelter of Milner's house, glad to be out of the worsening night.

Once in and settled, Milner fetched a bowl of warm water and his shaving kit, then watched with some little alarm as Andrew's hand shook as he picked up the razor.

"Here, you can’t shave in that state, you'll cut your own throat!" he objected, reaching out instinctively to catch Andrew's hand with his own. The contact seemed to make him jump, but also to startle him out of his introspection. He smiled, sheepishly. 

"Just tired, that's all," he insisted. 

Milner, conscious of the hand under his own still trembling, wasn't so sure, but he kept his thoughts to himself. "Would you allow me to do it?" he offered instead.

Andrew blinked, then laughed, relieved. "Would you? Sorry, I feel ridiculous, I mean not even having my own kit, I must have packed this morning in such a funk – "

"Really. It's no problem," Milner insisted gently, and drew the razor out of Andrew's hand. 

It was an odd sensation at first, shaving someone else, but he soon became accustomed to it and Andrew, entirely trusting, sat quite still under his hands. As Milner continued with his careful ministrations, he felt some of the tension gradually seep out Andrew's frame as he started to relax, and Milner realised that his eyes had drifted closed.

When he was finished, Milner rested a hand briefly on Andrew's shoulder, then handed him a towel to wipe his face.

Smiling up at him gratefully, Andrew gave a sudden grin. "Thank you. If you ever get bored with the police you'd make someone a great barber."

They laughed, dispelling the rather solemn mood that had descended over the room during the quiet ritual, and somehow now more at ease with each other's company.

"Well, I suppose I'd better see if my father's back." Andrew cast a doubtful look at the window, where the sound of heavy rain was coming from behind the black-out curtains.

Milner waved at Andrew to remain where he was. "Let me telephone. No point in getting drenched again if he's not back yet."

When he returned it was with an apologetic shrug, although he discovered somewhat guiltily that he wasn't too unhappy to retain Andrew's presence a little longer. 

"Sorry. No answer from the house, and he's not been back to the station. They must have got caught up in something."

Andrew rose anyway, reaching for his hat. "I'm sorry, I'm imposing, I shouldn’t take up any more of your evening – "

"You're not imposing. Honestly. To be frank, I'm rather glad of the company," Milner admitted, then wondered whatever had induced him to make such a confession.

Andrew was looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and puzzlement. "I'm sorry, I thought you were – did something happen to – " he tailed off awkwardly, all too aware of the tragedies that could befall people in these times.

"Jane left me," Milner explained shortly, awkwardly. "Sorry, I don’t really – "

" – want to talk about it?" Andrew finished for him, understandingly. "Fine pair we make," he added, and they shared a rueful smile.

Outside, the rain suddenly turned to hail, and they both jumped at the loud battering on the windowpane.

"Look, you really can't go out in this," Milner protested. "Why don’t you stay and have something to eat? I've got some soup I could heat up?" 

Andrew relented, with a smile.

\--

When they'd eaten, and despite Milner's protests, Andrew had insisted on washing up, Milner tried Foyle again on the telephone, but was still unable to track him down.

"I suppose he's alright, do you think?" Andrew asked.

"I'm sure he is," Milner assured him. "After all, he's got Sam to keep an eye on him." They laughed, and Milner was pleased to see the food and warmth had brought some of the colour back to Andrew's cheeks. 

"Look, you're welcome to stay the night if you want?" Milner offered. "The spare room's all made up. And don't say you'd be imposing, because you wouldn’t," he added quickly, as Andrew opened his mouth to automatically decline.

Andrew laughed quietly, giving in. "If you're sure?"

Milner nodded firmly. "I am."

They settled down by the fire, the roaring storm shut firmly outside.

"Does he ever talk to you about the war?" Andrew asked after they'd sat for a while in companionable silence. "The Great War, I mean," he clarified, as Milner looked surprised.

"Oh. No, no, he doesn’t." Milner shot a sideways glance at Andrew, who was staring into the fire.

"No, he never has to me, either. Sometimes I think – it might have been easier. If I'd known what to expect."

Milner sighed. "I don’t think there's anything that can really prepare you."

Andrew looked up, suddenly guilt-stricken. "Sorry. I'd forgotten you'd – I didn't mean to – sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Milner assured him. He hesitated. "Has it been – very awful? For you, I mean?"

Andrew nodded, slowly, then grimaced. "Not really good form to say so, is it?" Milner said nothing, letting him find his own words in his own time. After a second, Andrew continued, not looking at him. "I mean – with the boys you pretend it's all a jolly old jaunt you're all off on, and then the evenings you spend dancing with God-knows how many different girls trying to take your mind of what the next morning will bring, but it doesn’t work, because none of them understand. They haven't seen what you've seen. Haven't _done_ what – " he took a deep breath, controlling the words that were tumbling out of him, now. "And it gets to the point where you can’t sleep, and _that_ means you start making stupid mistakes and _that_ \- well, that's when they pack you off for a spot of R and R. For everyone else's sake if not yours," he finished, trying to make a joke of it.

"Sorry," he said, after a moment's silence. "You must think I'm the most dreadful baby to be carrying on like this."

"Don't." Milner stretched out his hand, rested it lightly on Andrew's. "I've been there, remember? And I do understand." 

He felt the muscles twitch in the hand under his own, but Andrew didn’t pull it away. 

"Sometimes it's a good thing to go to pieces," Milner murmured. "You just need someone that can help put you back together again afterwards." 

Andrew was staring at him now, holding Milner's gaze, wonderingly. 

"You really do understand, don’t you?" he whispered. Milner nodded, not dropping his eyes as Andrew leaned towards him. 

When Andrew leaned even closer, it still didn’t occur to Milner to move away, until suddenly Andrew's mouth was warm over his own, and he jerked back in shock.

"What are you – ?" 

Mortified, Andrew was on his feet, apologising frantically, backing away. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I misunderstood, I thought – I'm sorry, I'll go, please – " 

He'd reached the door before Milner, still sitting there in mild shock was finally galvanised into movement. He scrambled up and pursued Andrew out of the room, managing to reach the front door first and hold it closed, desperately.

"Please, don’t go," he breathed, discovering it was hard to find his voice. "Not like this."

Andrew wouldn’t look at him. "When you said you understood, I thought – " He shook his head, furious with himself. "Please, accept my apologies," he said stiffly. 

"There's no need," Milner said quietly ."You have nothing to be sorry for."

Andrew finally looked up, shame burning on his cheeks, and Milner realised in an uncomfortable moment of self-awareness that what he'd taken for affection for the young man was in fact dangerously more like attraction.

"Don't go," he repeated softly, not knowing what else to say to make this right between them.

"I should have thought you'd be glad to see the back of me," Andrew said bitterly.

"Oh - don’t be so daft," Milner sighed, exasperated. "Look – you took me by surprise, that's all," he went on, awkwardly. "I'd – _really_ – rather you didn’t go."

Andrew looked torn. "Really?" he asked, doubtfully.

"Really." Milner screwed up his courage, tried to push the implications of what he was doing out of his mind, and leaned forward to give Andrew a hasty peck on the lips. 

He pulled back, flushing red, and to his consternation found that Andrew was laughing in bemused amazement.

"Did you do that purely to make me feel better?" Andrew asked. "Or do you really want – " his nerve failed him, but Milner was holding his gaze, seriously.

"I really want," he confessed shakily, finding somewhat to his surprise that this was true. 

Andrew stepped closer, resting his fingers on the lapels of Milner's jacket, and kissed him, carefully, on the lips. His mouth was a warm, soft pressure that Milner found himself returning, felt Andrew's lips parting under his own, and then a warm, wet flick of Andrew's tongue along his lower lip that made things tighten in his stomach.

As they parted, both breathing rather unevenly, Andrew's fingers' brushed Milner's cheek lightly, wonderingly.

"Convinced?" 

Andrew nodded, biting his own lip, and half-laughing.

Milner drew him back into the warmth of the parlour, and before he could work out what to say Andrew had settled matters by kissing him again. 

Andrew's hands found their way round his waist, pulling him closer, and the contact and intensity of the kiss was making Milner's body respond in embarrassing ways. He tried to pull back, dreading that Andrew should notice, but Andrew merely tightened his embrace.

"It's okay," he whispered, kissing his way along Milner's jaw.

"It's not though, really, is it?" Milner sighed guiltily, and Andrew gave him a conspiratorial smile.

"I won't tell if you won’t."

As each began to trust in the other's genuine desire and willingness for this to be happening, their kisses became more intense, holding each other close, tasting, teasing, groaning, with increasingly aroused caresses.

Andrew, lips swollen and eyes brighter than they'd been all evening, touched Milner's hand.

"If you wanted, we could – you know." He gave a meaningful glance upwards.

Milner swallowed, suddenly wary. "I – I don’t – "

Andrew pulled him back close, kissing a soft apology. "It's okay. We don’t have to, I just thought you might – like to?"

Milner was flustered. "It's not that I don’t, I just – well, it's been a while. A long while. And I've never – you know. With a man. I wouldn’t know what I was doing."

"Neither have I," Andrew confessed in a whisper, kissing Milner's neck. "I thought maybe we could figure it out together." He could feel Milner still tense in his arms, and relented. "Sorry. You don’t want to, I shouldn’t push."

"It's just – there's something else, and Jane – well, it – oh Lord." Milner rubbed a hand over his face, embarrassed, and Andrew acquired a sudden look of understanding.

"My father, er, told me about – what happened to you," he said, carefully. "To your leg. If – that's it?"

Milner looked thankful. "It – wouldn't bother you?" he muttered, awkwardly.

"Why should it?"

"It bothered Jane."

"I'm not her."

"Andrew – "

"Shh." He kissed him again, lingeringly. " _Was_ that it?"

Milner nodded sheepishly, feeling at once relieved and nervous. "Come upstairs?" he murmured, and Andrew followed him, willingly.

In the low lamplight of Milner's bedroom they undressed each other slowly. As Milner's fingers unbuttoned Andrew's uniform, a frisson of guilty desire washed over him, leaving him hard and breathlessly light-headed. As he lowered Andrew's trousers he discovered that he was equally aroused, and the knowledge made him bolder, kissing his way across Andrew's bared chest, Andrew laughing as he tried to divest Milner of his own garments, and getting in a tangle.

They ended up sprawled on the bed, naked and shivering slightly. Climbing hastily under the bedclothes, Andrew reached out and drew Milner into his arms.

"Are you sure you want this?" he asked softly, his hands stroking gently down Milner's back.

"Surer than I've ever been about anything," Milner smiled, and their embrace became something warmer, mouths seeking each other out eagerly, their bodies pressed together in an increasingly urgent rhythm, rubbing against each other instinctively, hard and achingly aroused.

After a while, Andrew took Milner's shaft in his hand, stroking him slowly and producing a heartfelt groan. He fixed Milner's still slightly hesitant eyes with a gaze dark with lust and kissed him. "Touch me," he whispered, and Milner finally reached out, circling Andrew's own erection with gentle fingers, and starting his own firm rhythm.

"God, Paul," breathed Andrew, his head falling back against the pillow in pleasure, increasing the pressure of his own hand, until they were both gasping and writhing under the other's touch.

The feel of Andrew's swollen cock in his hand was making Milner feel like his whole body was pulsing with a need stronger than he'd ever before endured. Andrew's fingers were driving him almost out of his mind with desire, and before too much longer they were coming almost together, in a jerky, messy, laughing embrace.

Exhausted, they lay in each other's arms, the sticky mess coating both their stomachs a source of guilty, gleeful pride.

When the flush of passion had passed into a warm contentment, Milner propped himself up on one elbow, running his fingers down Andrew's chest.

"Stay?"

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes."

"Alright then." Andrew smiled up at him, sleepily amused. "if you insist." He wriggled closer, and Milner folded him back into his arms.

It was a while, before they slept, although the morning would be time enough to face things that could, for the moment, be safely pushed from their minds.

When Andrew finally passed into a doze, Milner lay awake for some time after, watching him sleep and wondering if a week's rest really would be enough to recover himself. Hoping he could help, and then feeling guilty because he knew it stemmed from a selfish desire to see the man again. 

Eventually, he pressed a kiss to Andrew's forehead, and turned out the light.

\--


End file.
